Soil 

it 

■ 

mm 
H 


The  Green  Coat :  a  Com- 
edy  in  One  Act:  by 
Alfred  de  Musset  and 
Emile  Augier :  Translated 
by  Barrett  H.  Clark 


Samuel  French :  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  Street :  New  York 


LONDON 


Samuel  French,  Ltd., 

26  Southampton  Street,  Strand 
PRICE  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS 


THE    WORLD'S    BEST     PLAYS 

BY  CELEBRATED  EUROPEAN  AUTHORS 

BARRETT   H.     CLARK 
GENERAL    EDITOR 


The  Green  Coat :  a  Com- 
edy  in  One  Act:  by 
Alfred  de  Musset  and 
Emile  Augier :  Translated 
by  Barrett  H.  Clark 


Samuel  French :  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  Street :  New  York 


COPYRIGHT,    1916, 

Bt  SAMUEL   FRENCH 


THE  GREEN  COAT 


EMILE  AUGIER  AND  ALFRED  DE  MUSSET. 

Alfred  de  Musset  is  one  of  France's  greatest 
poets;  Emile  Augier  one  of  her  most  truly  represen- 
tative dramatists.  These  two  masters  of  their  re- 
spective arts  collaborated  upon  a  delicate  and  charm- 
ing little  comedy,  which  should  be  considered  rather 
in  the  light  of  a  distraction  than  a  masterpiece 
worthy  the  genius  of  the  two  authors.  "  The  Green 
Coat/'  however,  is  a  dainty  trifle,  with  some  good 
characterization,  and  distinction  in  its  literary  style. 
It  is  representative  of  the  Romantic  school  of  litera- 
ture, to  which  Musset  belongs,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  which  Augier  began  his  dramatic  career. 
While  Musset  wrote  a  number  of  plays — some  of 
which  are  now  in  the  repertory  of  the  Comedie 
Francaise — he  never  wrote  with  the  idea  of  their 
being  performed,  but  Augier  was  a  born  "  man  of 
the  theater,"  and  remained  such  to  the  end  of  his  long 
career.  It  is  not  easy  to  distinguish  which  parts  of 
this  comedy  are  attributable  to  Musset  and  which  to 
Augier,  but  it  might  be  conjectured  that  the  structure 
was  Augier's  and  most  of  the  dialogue  Musset's. 


The  staging  is  extremely  simple,  and  the  directions 
in  the  text  sufficient.  The  costumes  should  be  mid- 
nineteenth  century  French,  but  an  approximation  to 
this  is  English  mid- Victorian. 

2 


306832 


THE  GREEN  COAT 


Scene: — A  studio  beneath  a  low  gabled  roof.  There 
is  a  door  at  the  back  opening  upon  a  corridor, 
another  at  the  right,  and  one  below  the  fireplace, 
left.  A  window  left.  To  the  right,  a  painter's 
easel.  To  the  left,  a  little  table.  Three  ordinary 
chairs.  At  the  bach,  left,  a  chestnut  clothes 
chest.  As  the  curtain  rises,  Raoul  is  seated  at 
the  table,  looking  out  the  open  window. 

Raoul.     Say  what  you  like — to-day  is  Sunday. 

Henri,  {seated  the  wrong  way  round  on  a  chair 
before  his  easel,  arranging  colors  on  his  palette) 
Well,  what  of  it? 

Raoul.  What  of  it?  As  there  is  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky,   I  maintain  it's  a  superb  day. 

Henri.     Yes? 

Raoul.  Yes?  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  shall  die 
old,  but  I  know  I  was  born  young,  and  I  take 
pleasure  in  seeing  the  blue  sky. 

Henri.     What  are  you  talking  about? 

I? aoul.  I  want  to  get  away,  see  the  green  grass — 
to-    well  to  Chaville  or  to  Fleury. 

Henri.     Why?     Why  to  Chaville? 

I- aoul.     Or  to  Fleury. 

!  Ienri.     You  know  we  have  no  money. 

Raoul.  I  didn't  say  we  had;  I  said  I  should  like 
to  see  the  country. 

Henri.  Ha !  Of  course !  You'd  like  to  satisfy 
every  wish,  drive  in  a  carriage,  be  loved  by  a  princess ! 

3 


4  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Raoul.  (rising)  Nothing  of  the  sort!  I'd  like 
you  to  put  on  your  hat  and  go  to  the  loan-office,  get 
twenty-five  francs  for  your  watch,  and  have  a  first- 
rate  dinner. 

Henri.  I  can't  do  that;  my  watch  is  the  only 
thing  I  have  left  from  my  grandmother,  (he  also 
rises,  palette  in  hand)  It's  a  great  watch,  with  an 
alarm. 

Raoul.     What's  the  good  of  an  alarm? 

Henri.     The  good? 

Raoul.     Yes. 

Henri.  Why,  to  let  me  know  what  time  it  is — 
even  in  the  dark. 

Raoul.  Well,  pawn  it — we'll  buy  a  tinder  box 
with  the  proceeds;  we  need  one. 

Henri.  Charming  idea !  Only  I'm  not  going  to 
part  with  the  watch. 

Raoul.     Much  good  it  does  in  your  pocket! 

Henri.  It  at  least  remains  there — which  is  more 
than  can  be  said  of  cash! 

Raoul.  As  if  that  were  an  argument!  An  onion 
would  be  quite  as  useful.  If  you  were  a  business 
man,  or  a  lover,  or  a  doctor,  you  might  have  some 
excuse.  But  with  us,  closed  in  in  our  little  attic,  I 
with  my  nose  in  law  books,"  you  with  your  white- 
wash— what  do  we  care  what  time  it  is?  You're 
like  a  man  holding  a  thermometer  in  front  of  a  fire- 
place with  no  wood  in  it. 

Henri.  Joke  if  you  like,  and  make  fun  of  me,  but 
I'm  in  earnest. 

Raoul.     Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Henri.  I  mean  that  you  take  particular  pleasure 
in  tormenting  and  making  game  of  me.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  that  we're  poor,  that  we  rented  this  hole, 
we  put  nothing  to  nothing  to  help  each  other,  that 
your  parents  as  well  as  mine  refused  to  send  you  the 
500  francs  you  asked  for. 

Raoul.     Yes,  we  are  down  to  our  last  sous. 

Henri.    Well,,  then,  why  joke  about  it? 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  5 

Raoul.  It  costs  no  more  than  to  cry. —  Now,  will 
you  or  won't  you  pawn  your  watch? 

Henri.  No,  no,  no. —  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  to-day? 

Raoul.     It's  Sunday. 

Henri.  But,  Heavens  and  Earth,  it's  just  like 
any  other  day ! 

Raoul.  It's  Sunday,  and  it's  beautiful  out-doors; 
I  want  to  see  the  country,  I  want  to  live — I  can't 
explain 

Henri.  If  you  would  for  once  in  your  life  stop 
joking  and  be  a  little  serious,  I'd  tell  you  something 
worth  hearing. 

Raoul.     Speak. 

Henri.     No,  you  wouldn't  listen. 

Raoul.     But  I  am. 

Henri.     No,  you're  not. 

Raoul.  On  which  of  our  three  chairs  must  I  sit 
to  prove  that  I  am  serious?  (sitting  on  a  chair  near 
the  table,  left)  There,  now.  You  must  speak;  you 
say  you  have  an  idea? 

Henri.  We  can  get  out  of  our  difficulties  very 
easily,  and  honorably,  (he  goes  to  the  fireplace  and 
brings  a  painted  screen  to  the  center  of  the  stage) 
Here's  a  screen  I've  painted.  You  never  would 
deign  to  look  at  it. 

Raoul.     No,  I  know  too  well  what's  on  it ! 

Henri.     Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Raoul.     Is  that  it? 

Henri.  Yes. —  Some  more  joking  now?  You 
know  I've  been  working  on  it  for  six  weeks.  I 
firmly  believe  that  to-day  I  shall  dispose  of  it. 

Raoul.  (rising)  You  are  likely  to  have  a  little 
difficulty  persuading  the  dealers  to  make  the  necessary 
sacrifice. 

Henri.  I  know  a  stationer,  a  man  of  taste;  a 
connoisseur. 

Raoul.  In  that  case  you'll  make  him  a  present 
of  it. 


6  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Henri.     He  will  know  its  value. 

Raoul.     Exactly ! 

Henri.     You  think  it's  worth  nothing? 

Raoul.  Conventional  subject.  If  you  had  painted 
Daphnis  and  Chloe,  or  a  poor  old  invalid  fishing  for 
a  shoe,  or  the  well-known  child  spoiling  the  stew,  you 
might  have  a  chance  of  making  a  commercial  suc- 
cess— but  that! 

Henri.  I  will  admit  I've  chosen  a  rather  serious 
subject. 

Raoul.  And  yet  you've  added  a  few  amusing  de- 
tails; see,  Juliet  has  one  eye  too  many  and  lacks  one 
leg. 

Henri.  One  eye  too  many?  That's  her  nose. — 
I'm  wasting  time  asking  for  your  advice.  I'll  take 
the  screen  now,  and  show  you  I  can  live  by  my 
brushes,     (he  lifts  the  screen  to  his  shoulders} 

Raoul.  Your  brushes !  I  have  grave  doubts 
whether  they  would  bring  a  sou  if  you  were  to  sell 
them.  (as  Henri  is  about  to  leave,  Marguerite 
is  heard  outside  in  the  corridor,  singing)  Ha ! 
Mademoiselle  Marguerite ! 

Raoul.     Well? 

Henri.  I  shouldn't  like  her  to  see  me  with  this 
on  my  shoulders. 

Raoul.     You  are  sensitive. 

Henri.  I'm  fearfully  embarrassed  in  the  presence 
of  ladies. 

Raoul.     Then  you'll  never  marry,  I  suppose? 

(Munius,  the  old-clothes  dealer,  is  heard  outside,  on 
the  stairs  crying:  "Old  clothes!     Old  clothes!  ") 

Henri.  Our  friend  the  Israelite  Munius,  going  to 
his  garret! 

Munius.  (outside)  Ha!  Ha!  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite?     How  are  you,  neighbor? 

Marguerite,  (outside)  -  Singing  as  usual,  neigh- 
bor.    How  is  business? 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  7 

Munius.  (outside)  I've  had  a  good  morning; 
made  a  splendid  sale. 

Marg.  (outside)  One  can't  sell  too  high  in  your 
profession,  can  he? 

Munius.     (outside)     I  have  gold  in  my  pocket! 

Raoul.     Something  to  borrow  at  starvation  rates ! 

Henri.     Sh! 

Marg.  (outside)  That  will  be  enough,  Monsieur, 
please ! 

Raoul.     Infamous  villain!      (a  slap  is  heard) 

Munius.    I  must  kiss  you  for  that,     (another  slap) 

Marg.     Stop,  or  I  shall  be  very  angry  with  you. 

Raoul.  After  two  slaps?  Run  to  her  aid, 
innocence  is  in  danger,  (he  opens  the  door  at  the 
back)     What's  this,  M.  Munius? 

Munius.  (appearing  at  the  back,  in  the  corridor) 
Old  clothes  !     Old  clothes  ! 

Raoul.  Run  along,  you  old — !  We  give  our  cast- 
off  clothing  to  our  servants. 

(Munius  disappears  into  the  corridor.) 

Marg.  (entering)  Thank  you,  M.  Raoul.  (see- 
ing Henri,  who  is  trying  to  hide)  Ha,  ha !  What 
a  funny  man! 

Henri.     Caught!     (he  goes  to  the  right) 

Marg.     Why   are   you  walking  around  with  that 


screen  r 


Henri.     I'm  not  walking  around,  I'm  going  out. 

Marg.  There  are  no  draughts  outside,  you  need 
not  take  so  many  precautions. 

Henri.  (aside  to  Raoul)  Most  embarrassing, 
isn't  it?  (Henri  starts  to  go  out  at  the  back.  The 
screen  gets  caught  in  the  doorway.  Marguerite  and 
Raoul  laugh) 

Raoul.  (to  Marguerite  who  goes  toward  Henri) 
Let  him  go,  Mademoiselle.  He's  going  to  rid  us  of 
that  screen — let  him  do  it. 


8  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

(Henri  goes  out.) 

Marg.     A  present  to  his  sweetheart? 

Raoul.  No,  he's  going  to  sell  it  and  give  the 
proceeds  to  the  poor. 

Marg.     You  are  actively  engaged  in  charity,  then? 

Raoul.  Each  of  us  has  one  object  of  charity  to 
look  after. 

Marg.     Didn't  yours  just  leave  the  room? 

Raoul.  I  believe  so. —  Oh,  what  were  you  sing- 
ing just  now? 

Marg.     A  romance,  or  a  song — as  you  please. 

Raoul.  They  both  please:  it's  six  of  one  or  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  other,  like  a  tear  trickling  down  the 
wrinkle  caused  by  a  laugh. —     Sing  it  to  me,  please. 

Marg.  I  don't  feel  in  the  mood.  There's  some- 
thing in  my  throat 

Raoul.     What? 

Marg.  That  poor  screen  that's  going  to  buy  you  a 
dinner. 

Raoul.  That  reminds  me,  will  you  come  for  a 
ride  with  us  in  the  coach?     To  Chaville? 

Marg.     Is  this  an  invitation? 

Raoul.     It  is. 

Marg.     And  with  what,  pray? 

Raoul.     With  our  best  wishes. 

Marg.     No  credit  on  that,  alas! 

Raoul.  Ah,  it's  a  superb  thing,  a  work  of  art 
that  Henri  will  sell  for  its  weight  in  gold. 

Marg.     Do  you  think  so? 

Raoul.     It's   Romeo  and  Juliet? 

Marg.  The  subject  of  my  song:  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  Monsieur!  You  know  the  story.  With  one 
foot  on  the  silken  ladder,  he  leaves  his  beloved,  and 
with  tears  in  his  heart,  says — Are  you  listening? 

Raoul.  {straddling  a  chair,  left)  I'm  in  the 
gallery  at  the  Italiens!    Yes,  he  says — ? 

Marg.     {singing) 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  9 

Aria: 

The  hour  sounds,  and  yet  thy  hand 

Is  still  in  mine,  my  love. 
See,  morn  doth  near  th'  horizon  stand; 

The  stars   are  pale  above. 
Ah,  spare  me,  weep  not,  dearest  mine, 

I  go,  but  think  of  me — 
I  go  my  path,  and  thou  go'st  thine; 

No,  Margot — can  I  leave  thee? 

Oh,  Margot — can  I  leave  thee? 
Suffer  then,  beneath  this  sky 
Of  scarlet  hue — no,  not  good-bye ! 

Raoul.  (applauding)  Bravo !  Now,  if  I  said 
you  were  charming,  I  should  only  resemble  everyone 
else.  (rising)  But,  tell  me,  didn't  you  substitute 
"  Margot  "  for  "  Juliet?  "     I  envy  Romeo,  then! 

Marg.  The  Romeo  is  an  artistic  convention,  you 
see. 

Raoul.  Good;  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  the  place 
taken  by  a  flesh-and-blood  Romeo. 

Marg.  Now,  I  suppose  you're  going  to  make  love 
to  me? 

Raoul.     Of  course. 

Marg.     But  why? 

Raoul.     Just  because  it's  an  interesting  game. 

Marg.    Make  it  short,  we  mustn't  risk  being  bored. 

Raoul.  We're  alone  here;  it  mustn't  be  said  that 
we  neglected  an  opportunity.  What  a  wonderful 
collaboration!     We  should  create  a  masterpiece! 

Marg.     Do  you  wish  to? 

Raoul.  No,  only  to  collaborate.  What  a  divine 
occupation  a  love  scene  is!  Oh,  Juliet,  why  do  you 
imagine  the  Good  Lord  created  the  Sun,  the  woods, 
Sunday,  if  two  young  people  were  not  intended  to 
walk  over  the  greensward  and  say  that  they  love  each 
other  ?  What  a  charming  thing  is  love ! 
^Marg.     Yes,  on  Sunday,  but  what  can  one  do  the 


10  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

rest  of  the  week?  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  work 
all  week,  from  morning  to  night?  Listen  to  me, 
and  I'll  tell  you  my  ideas  on  the  subject.  Doesn't 
it  seem  to  you  that  those  fine  ladies  and  handsome 
little  gentlemen  who  pass  their  lives  making  love, 
are  just  the  people  who  never  do  anything?  Love 
was  invented  for  such  people;  what  would  otherwise 
become  of  them?  They  must  dream  to  keep  from 
sleeping,  and  the  more  varied  the  dreams,  the  better 
they  enjoy  them.  If  they  couldn't  dream,  they 
would  die  of  ennui.  Now  I  work  by  the  day,  make 
dresses,  mend  lace — if  I  have  anything  else  on  my 
mind  I  prick  my  fingers  and  make  horrible  mistakes. 
If  I  had  some  real  deep  sentiment  in  my  heart  I 
shouldn't  seriously  obj  ect — but  these  little  affairs ! 
No,  neighbor,  I  can't  afford  the  time.  I  must  think 
of  my  little  household,  and  not  of  any  particular  per- 
son. I  shall  never  love,  unless  it  be  that  my  whole 
life  is — that! 

Raoul.  Good,  but  I  still  insist  on  crying:  Long 
live  love !     Even  the  word  is  sweet ! 

Marg.     Therefore  you  should  not  speak  it  here! 

Raoul.    What's  the  harm? 

Marg.      (listening)      I   hear 

Raoul.     Whom? 

Marg.     Romeo. 

(The  noise  of  a  fall  is  heard.) 

Raoul.     Bang ! 

Marg.     (going  up  stage,  left)     What's  happened? 

Raoul.  In  coming  up  our  six  flights,  he  must  have 
missed  one  rung  in  the  silk  ladder.  So — you  don't 
like  the  idea  of  being  Juliet? 

Marg.     I  decidedly  don't. 

(Raoul  opens  the  door  at  the  bach.     Henri  enters, 
his  trousers  torn  at  the  knee.) 

Marg.    Are  you  hurt,  M.  Henri? 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  11 

Henri.  No,  Mademoiselle.  There's  no  great 
harm  done — but  what  ill-luck — !  (he  displays  the 
damaged  screen)  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  only 
knew — ! 

Raoul.     How  about  your  dealer? 

Henri.     He's  a  fool.     If  you  only  knew ! 

Raoul.     Your  trousers ! 

Henri.     An  accident — you  don't  know. 

Marg.  (showing  him  to  a  chair)  Put  your  foot 
there.     No,  with  needle  and  thread — I'll  mend  you. 

(Henri,  who  has  placed  the  screen  against  the  wall, 
left,  returns  to  the  chair  and  puts  his  foot  upon 
it.) 

Henri.  It's  really  too  good  of  you,  Mademoiselle. 
Oh,  if  you  could  only  do  the  same  to  that  poor  screen ! 
Mademoiselle,  if  you  knew — !  What  sufferings  an 
artist  has ! 

Marg.  (sewing)  I  too  am  an  artist  sometimes, — 
when  I  embroider. 

Raoul.  And  I  when  I  play  billiards.  But  to 
work,  Mademoiselle! —  Oh,  Henri,  I  have  invited 
Margot  to  take  dinner  with  us.  Ask  counsel  of  your 
heart,    and    make    answer    forthwith.      Understand? 

Henri.     Not  in  the  least. 

Raoul.  Watch  me!  (signalling)  Watch — me! 
Eh? 

Henri.  Nonsense.—-  Ah,  you  pricked  me,  then! 
(he  draws  his  knee  away) 

Marg.     Why  do  you  do  that? 

Henri.  Why?  He  wants  me  to  pawn  my  watch, 
Mademoiselle.     My  watch!     Think  of  it! 

Marg.     Are  you  down  to  that? 

Henri.     Yes — we  can't  go  much  lower. 

Raoul.  Henri  is  an  idiot,  an  alarmist;  don't 
listen  to  him. 

Marg.     Well,  I 

Raoul.     Sh !     He  always  looks  at  the  dark  side  of 


12  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

things.  We've  never  been  in  more  prosperous  cir- 
cumstances. 

Henri.    That's  sure. 

Marg.  No  false  pride,  now,  my  friends !  Let  me 
tell  you  something,  and  don't  be  offended.  I  am  not 
very  rich  myself,  and  I  know  you  are  a  pair  of  fear- 
ful pretenders !  I  am  an  economical  little  lady,  who 
earns  twenty-five  sous  a  day.  If  you  are  in  need 
of  twenty-five  francs 

Raoul.  No,  my  good  Margot;  we  never  borrow 
from  friends. 

Henri.     And  we  have  no  enemies. 

Marg.     There  is  Munius? 

Henri.  Don't  mention  his  name;  he  is  the  Prince 
of  Thieves. 

Raoul.  The  fact  is,  he  robbed  us  in  a  most  black- 
guardly manner. 

Marg.     How  ? 

Henri.  We  had  a  vest,  and  in  the  pocket  of  that 
vest  was  a  five-franc  piece  I  had  saved  up. 

Marg.     Indeed ! 

Henri.  Yes !  When  I  was  out  one  day,  Raoul 
sold  the  vest  to  Munius  for  forty  sous.  The  coin 
was  in  the  left  pocket;  I  am  positive  of  that.  Well, 
Munius  took  it  away,  and  when  I  went  to  ask  for  the 
five-franc  piece,  he  denied  having  found  it. 

Marg.     That's  unheard-of. 

Henri.     Ask  Raoul. 

Raoul.  I  confess  my_  carelessness,  as  well  as  the 
dishonesty  of  the  Israelite. 

Marg.  Now,  I  have  an  idea,  a  splendid  idea. 
We're  all  going  to  have  dinner  together. 

Henri.     What? 

Marg.  I  promise.  Do  you  happen  to  have  some 
article  of  old  clothing  around? 

Henri.  Providence  has  so  decreed  that  we  hap- 
pen to  have  an  article  of  new  clothing! 

Marg.     But  I  want  something  old. 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  13 

Raoul.  At  your  service.  We  have  the  celebrated 
green  coat — do  you  know  it? 

Marg.     No. 

Raoul.  Called  The  Conqueror —  I'll  show  it  to 
you.  Conqueror,  come  forth,  come  forth  from  thy 
Tabernacle!  (he  goes  upstage,  and  strikes  three 
times  on  the  chest) 

Henri.     Are  you  afraid  it's  gone  out? 

Raoul.  It  never  goes  out  alone,  (he  opens  the 
chest  and  brings  forth  a  green  coat)  Here  it  is,  but 
— ask  for  nothing  further.  (he  displays  the  coat 
over  the  back  of  a  chair) 

Marg.     Now  what  do  you  do  with  that  coat? 

Henri.  Raoul  and  I  wear  it,  in  turns,  whenever 
society  demands  that  we  appear  as  gentlemen. 

Marg.  A  single  coat  for  the  two  of  you?  I  should 
like  to  see  how  your  scheme  works ! 

Raoul.     It  is  a  little  large  for  Henri. 

Henri.     And  it  nearly  suffocates  Raoul. 

Raoul.  You'll  see.  (he  puts  on  the  coat  and  goes 
to  the  right)     Don't  I  look  like  a  great  man? 

Marg.  Or  an  umbrella  in  a  case  that's  too  short 
for  it. 

(Raoul   takes   off  the   coat  and  comes   back   to   the 
left.) 

Henri.  Bravo,  I  told  him  that!  Now  for  my 
turn!     (he  puts  on  the  coat) 

Marg.     Left  hand  first? 

Henri.     I'm  left-handed. 

Raoul.     That's  the  only  excuse  for  his  painting! 

Henri,  (crossing  the  stage)  Don't  I  look  like 
some  son  of  an  aristocratic  family? 

Marg.     Or  an  orphan  spending  his  father's  money. 

Raoul.     Take  that,  presumptuous  mortal! 

Marg.  (to  Henri)  Now  for  my  idea:  that  am- 
biguous coat  doesn't  suit  either  of  you;  you  ought 
to  sell  it. 


14  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Raoul.     Never !     We  must  keep  this. 

Henri,  {taking  the  coat  off,  and  laying  it  on  a 
chair)     We've  been  offered  only  six  francs  for  it. 

Raoul.  And  we  must  have  twenty  to  go  to  Cha- 
ville. 

Marg.  I'll  get  them  if  you'll  let  me  manage.  It's 
a  good  deed  to  fleece  a  thief. 

Henri.    What  do  you  suggest,  then? 

Marg.  You  want  to  know  everything  all  at  once, 
don't  you? 

Munius.     {outside)     Old  clothes!     Old  clothes! 

Raoul.  Ha,  old  Munius  shouting  in  the  hallway! 
What  devotion  to  his  art! 

Marg.  Here's  just  our  chance!  And  the  thief! 
Leave  me  alone  with  him,  and  the  coat.  (Henri  gives 
her  the  coat)  Run  into  your  bed-room,  and  hold  your 
breath. 

Raoul.     Henri  is  sure  to  sneeze! 

Marg.  I  ask  him  to  refrain  for  five  minutes  only, 
by  the  watch —  Oh,  by  the  way,  let  me  have  your 
watch,  Henri. 

Henri.     What  do  you  want  with  it? 

Marg.     I  asked  for  five  minutes,  by  the  watch. 

Henri,  {taking  the  watch  from  his  pocket)  It 
has  an  alarm. 

Marg.  Are  you  afraid  I'll  keep  it?  I'm  not  a 
pawnshop ! 

Henri.     Of  course,  but 

Marg.     Come,  now! 

Henri,  {giving  her  the  watch)  Don't  shake  it, 
it's  very  delicate. 

Marg.  At  its  age — I  understand!  Now,  off  with 
you — and  don't  dare  sneeze  ! 

Raoul.  {by  Henri)  I'll  hold  my  hand  over  his 
mouth. 

Henri,  {try  to  repress  a  sneeze)  Why  do  you 
have  to  speak  of  such  things?      {he  sneezes) 

(Raoul  and  Henri  pass  into  the  room  at  the  right.) 


THE  GEEEN  COAT.  15 

Marg.  (alone  for  a  moment,  she  puts  the  watch 
in  a  pocket  of  the  coat,  which  she  lays  over  a  chair, 
left.     Then  she  opens  the  door  at  the  bach)     Munius ! 

Munius.     (outside')     What  is  it? 

Marg.     Come  up.     I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 

Munius.     (outside)     Or  another  slap,  eh? 

Marg.  Perhaps,  it  all  depends  on  you.  (Munius 
appears  at  the  door,  loaded  down  with  clothes)  Come 
in. 

Munius.  What  are  you  doing  here — with  these 
vagabonds  ? 

Marg.  They  are  out,  and  I  am  arranging  their 
room.  Come  in,  we'll  talk  while  I  dust —  (enter 
Munius)     Close  the  door. 

Munius.  Ha,  you  little  coquette,  I  said  you 
wouldn't  send  old  Papa  Munius  away  forever! 

Marg.  What  do  you  think  I  want  with  you  now? 
— I  want  to  make  a  bargain  with  you. 

Munius.     Just  what  I  thought. 

Marg.  ^But  not  the  one  you  imagine.  I  want  to 
sell  you  some  clothes. 

Marg.  (handing  him  the  green  coat)  Look  at 
that  now. 

Munius.     I'd  rather  look  at  you,  Mademoiselle. 

Marg.     Yes,  but  this  is  hardly  the  time ! 

Munius.  When  will  the  time  come?  But,  Made- 
moiselle, it's  for  your  own  happiness,  your  own  ad- 
vantage  

Marg.     Look  at  the  coat,  I  tell  you. 

Munius.  I  know  the  coat.  I've  offered  six 
francs  for  it  already — two  weeks  ago. 

Marg.     To-day  it's  worth  twenty. 

Munius.  But  it's  older? —  Ha! —  Come,  now, 
marry  me  and  you'll  never  repent  it.  I'm  old:  I 
might  die  in  six  months. 

Marg.     Sh!     Not  another  word! 

Munius.  No,  I  swear !  I've  lived  a  fearful  life  in 
my  youth —  I'll  not  last  long,  and  I'll  leave  you 
every  sou  I  have  when  I  die. 


16  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Marg.  We'll  speak  of  that  another  time.  Will 
you  give  me  twenty  francs  for  this  coat? 

Munius.  I  have  an  income  of  eight  hundred  francs 
a  year,  and  a  bad  case  of  catarrh. 

Marg.  You'd  sell  your  heart  and  mine  for  an  in- 
come !     I  know  you ! 

Munius.     See — see  here —     (he  coughs) 

Marg.  That's  not  the  way.  (she  coughs)  That's 
a  real  cough,  now:  I'm  a  consumptive.  Come,  come, 
little  friend,  you'll  never  be  sick;  you're  as  fresh  as 
a  rose. 

Munius.  Little  Munius,  fresh  as  a  rose!  Pluck 
me,  then! 

Marg.     You're  a  child. 

Munius.  That's  it,  exactly !  You  can  lead  me  with 
a  string — a  real  child.  You'll  have  everything  your 
heart  desires:  silk  kerchiefs,  ear-rings,  chains  and 
jewels  and  gold-headed  riding-canes —  Oh,  Mar- 
guerite ! 

Marg.  How  your  eyes  sparkle !  Why,  I  wonder, 
do  people  call  you  homely? 

Munius.  They're  envious  gossips  who  say  it! 
Don't  believe  them.  If  you  love  me,  I'll  dress  well, 
I'll  wear  a  Branderburg  coat  with  an  Astrakan  collar. 
You'll  see! 

Marg.  (going  to  the  left)  You  would  be  charm- 
ing in  this  coat. 

Munius.  Oh!  Not  that!—  Listen:  I'll  give  you 
silks  and  taffetas,  I've  a  splendid  dress,  with  only  a 
tiny  tear  in  it ! 

Marg.     Sounds  very  tempting,  but 

Munius.  I'll  go  at  once,  if  you  wish,  and  bring 
you  a  velvet  collar — and 

Marg.  La&er.  Do  you  really  want  to  be  agree- 
able to  me,  now  ? 

Munius.  Witn  all  my  heart,  Marguerite! —  Oh, 
my 

Marg.  Come  down  from  the  clouds,  Munius,  and 
listen  to  me. 


THE  GREEN  COAT.  17 


Munius.     I  listen- 


Marg.     Will  you  behave? 

Munius.     I  am  silent. 

Marg.  I  wish  you  would  look  at  this  coat  like  the 
honest  thief  you  are. 

Munius.     Is  that  all? 

Marg.  All  for  the  moment — examine  it  carefully. 
(she  gives  him  the  coat) 

Munius.  (examining  it)  I  have  seen  it.  There's 
a  torn  pocket  here,  the  buttonholes  are  frayed,  and 
these  creases  here !     Worth  exactly  three  francs. 

Marg.  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about ! 
I'll  go  away  for  a  moment  and  let  you  think  the  mat- 
ter over  carefully,  (she  goes  to  the  window,  left, 
and  waits) 

Munius.  (down-stage,  coat  in  hand)  Ha!  (he 
shaJces  the  coat)  Something  in  the  pocket !  (drawing 
forth  the  watch)  Oh,  a  watch!  Solid  gold!  (weigh- 
ing it  in  his  hand)  Heavy!  They  are  a  pair  of 
young  fools !  This  is  the  second  time — !  That  five 
francs — !  This  would  be  stealing!  It  must  be 
worth — ?  Let's  see:  three  francs  for  the  coat — it's 
worth  it.  The  other  seventeen  for  the  watch —  H—  ! 
(he  puts  the  watch  back  into  the  coat-pochet) 

Marg.     (returning  to  Munius)     What  do  you  say? 

Munius.  As  a  favor  to  you- — well — here  are 
twenty  francs,  (he  gives  her  a  20-franc  gold-piece. 
Marguerite  goes  to  the  door,  right)     M.  Raoul! 

Munius.     What's  this? 

(Enter  Raout   and  Henri.) 

Marg.  Here,  neighbors — for  your  trip  to  Chaville 
— gold!     (she  gives  the  coin  to  Raoul) 

Raoul.  (going  to  Munius)  Good  old  Munius! 
Virtue  has  at  last  come  to  mankind  again! 

Marg.     As  Munius ! 

Henri,     (fo  Marguerite)     My  watch?! 

Marg.     Your  watch? 


18  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Munius.  {edging  away  upstage)  Good-bye, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.     I  must  be  going. 

Marg.  {retaining  him)  Stay,  please!  We  have 
something  to  say  to  you. 

Henri,      (to  Marguerite)     But,  my  watch? 

Marg.  I  laid  it  on  the  table.  (Henri  looks  on 
the  table)  Munius,  you've  been  so  generous,  that  I 
invite  you  to  dinner  with  us  at  Chaville.  (she  makes 
a  sign  to  Raoul) 

Raoul.  No  more  than  right.  Virtuous  Munius, 
we  shall  gambol  on  the  grass. 

Henri,  (still  looking  for  the  watch)  I  don't  see 
it.     On  the  table,  did  you  say  ? 

Marg.     Or  the  chair;  I  don't  remember. 

Munius.  Then  I  must  dress,  (he  again  attempts 
to  get  away) 

Marg.  There's  no  need,  you  are  nice  just  as  you 
are! 

Raoul.  Munius,  what  will  you  have  for  dinner? 
Choose. 

Henri,  (crossing  the  stage)  I  don't  mind  a  joke, 
but  there  is  a  limit —  Now,  Mile.  Marguerite,  give 
me  my  watch. 

Marg.     Can't  you  find  it? 

Munius.  (making  another  attempt  to  escape) 
I'll  just  put  these  old  clothes  in  my  room. 

Marg.  (again  retaining  him)  One  might  almost 
imagine  that  you  didn't  care  for  our  company  ?     Stay ! 

Raoul.  What  do  you  say  to  pigeon  and  peas,  in 
wine  sauce? 

Munius.     Ah ! 

Henri.     I  can't  find  it! 

Marg.  That's  queer,  I  had  it  not  fifteen  minutes 
ago. 

Henri.  I'm  in  a  pretty  fix  if  it's  lost!  I  can't 
exist  M'ithout  knowing  the  time. 

Munius.     It  must  have  fallen  under  something. 

Henri.     There's  nothing  for  it  to  fall  under. 


THE  GREEIn  COAT.  19 

Raoul.  (going  to  Henri)  Never  mind  the  watch 
' — we'll  find  it  to-morrow. 

Henri.     If  it  isn't  found  now,  it's  lost  forever! 

Raoul.     You  can  buy  another. 

Henri.  That's  not  the  same  thing.  I'd  grown 
used  to  my  own,  it  wasn't  like  other  watches.  It  was 
my  watch,  and  I  must  find  it! 

(Marguerite  watches  Munius  carefully  and  pre- 
vents his  leaving  or  taking  the  watch  from  the 
coat-pocket.) 

Raoul.     (to  Henri)     What's  the  matter  with  you? 

Henri.     My  watch! 

Marg.     Help  us  look  for  it,  Munius. 

Henri.  You  won't  find  it.  It's  lost,  (he  sits 
down  in  despair) 

Marg.     It  must  have  flown 

Munius.     Stolen?     Why,  who ? 

Marg.     Flown,  I  said. 

Raoul.  Yes.  Poor  Henri  looks  as  if  he'd  lost  his 
last  friend. 

(Munius  once  more  seeks  to  escape,  but  Marguerite 
prevents  him.) 

Henri.  I  loved  that  old  watch.  I  remember 
when  it  used  to  be  on  my  grandmother's  mantel — ah ! 
at  that  time  I  didn't  know  what  it  was  to  be  poor. 
I  used  to  play  with  the  old  watch.  It  seemed  as  if  it 
looked  at  me —  It's  the  spirit  of  the  past — its  dear 
old  tic  tac  spoke  eloquently  to  me  of  my  youth —  I 
loved  it ! 

Marg.     Poor  boy! 

Raoul.     Come,  come,  don't  be  so  sad! 

Henri.  Why  not?  My  watch  kept  me  company — 
now  it's  gone. 

Marg.  Wait  a  moment — I  remember  now! —  I 
put  it  in  your  coat  pocket — the  green  coat! 


20  THE  GREEN  COAT. 

Munius.     Oh ! 

Henri.  {going  quickly  to  Munius,  taking  the 
watch  from  the  pocket.,  and  brandishing  it  in  the  air) 
Here  it  is!  (he  kisses  it)  Ha!  The  lost  is  found! — 
Only,  the  crystal's  broken !  But  what  do  I  care  ?  I 
have  it  again ! 

Munius.     Give  me  back  my  money. 

Marg.     What  money? 

Munius.  Do  you  think  I'd  pay  twenty  francs  for 
this  old  rag? 

Raoul.  Ah,  Munius,  you  knew  the  watch  was  in 
the  pocket  ? ! 

Munius.     I  don't  say  that! 

(Marguerite  has  taken  the  coat  from   Munius  and 
laid  it  on  a  chair,  right.) 

Marg.  (between  Henri  and  Raoul)  What  an 
idea  ?     Poor  Munius  !     The  Prince  of  honest  men ! 

Raoul.  It  wouldn't  be  the  first  time!  We've  lost 
one  20-franc  piece  that  way  already 

Munius.     It  was  only  five! 

Raoul.  See,  he  doesn't  deny  it !  You  are  my  wit- 
nesses ! 

Marg.  Ah,  Munius,  I  should  never  have  thought 
that  of  you! 

Henri.  And  he  kept  it,  the  thief!  As  he  tried  to 
heep  my  watch! 

Munius.  Now  I  knew  nothing  about  the  watch — 
and  that  affair  of  the  five  francs  was  only  to  teach 
you  a  lesson —  I  consider  you  in  a  way  as  my  chil- 
dren!—  Now,  don't  you  think  it's  hard  for  a  man 
of  my  age  to  be  suspected  in  this  way  before  a  lady? 

Marg.  Don't  cry,  honest  Munius,  we  shan't  tell 
the  police ! 

Raoul  and  Henri.     Long  live  Margot! 

Henri.     Let's  kiss  her ! 

Marg.  Oh,  no,  my  friends:  we're  neighbors,  noth- 
ing more!     Let's  get  ready  now  and  go  to  the  coun- 


THE  GREEN  GOAT.  21 

try!     You  see  you've  g^/e^ '  me  the  invitation,  but  I 
pay  the  bill — though  it's  really  a  pleasure! 

(Raoul  and  Henri  go  to  the  coat  where  Marguerite 
had  placed  it  on  a  chair;  Henri  puts  his  left 
arm  into  one  sleeve,  Raoul  his  right  into  the 
other.  Each,  seeking  the  other  sleeve,  pull  so 
that  the  coat  tears  in  halves,  down  the  back.) 

Raoul.  Your  fault!  You  must  always  be  wear- 
ing it! 

Henri.  Well,  now,  we  shan't  have  to  dispute 
about  it  any  more. 

Raoul  and  Henri.  (throwing  the  pieces  to 
Munius)      Here,  Munius! 

Marg.  There's  some  nice  mending  to  be  done!-— 
Now — off  to  the  country ! 

Raoul,  Henri,  and  Marg.     To  the  country! 

CURTAIN 


THE  WORLD'S   BEST  PLAYS 

By    Celebrated    European    Authors 


A  NEW  SERIES  OF  AMATEUR  PLAYS  BY  THE   BEST 
AUTHORS,   ANCIENT   AND   MODERN,   ESPECIALLY 
TRANSLATED  WITH  HISTORICAL  NOTES,  SUG- 
GESTIONS   FOR  STAGING,   Etc.,   FOR   THE 
USE    OF    SCHOOLS,    COLLEGES,    AND 
DRAMATIC  CLUBS 

BARRETT    H.     CLARK 

General     Editor 


ITH  the    immensely    increased  demand  for  new 
plays  for  purposes  of  production   by   amateurs 

W  comes  a  coi'respondingly  great  demand  for  a  care- 

ful selection  of  those  plays  which  can  b3  easily 
and  well  presented  by  clubs  and  colleges.  The 
plays  in  the  present  series  have  been  chosen  with 
regard  to  their  intrinsic  value  as  drama  and  liter- 
ature, and  at  the  same  time  to  their  adaptability  to  the  needs  and 
limitations  of  such  organizations. 

The  Series,  under  the  personal  supervision  of  Mr.  Barrett  H. 
Clark,  instructor  in  the  department  of  Dramatic  Literature  at 
Chautauqua,  New  York,  assistant  stage  manager  and  actor  with 
Mrs.  Flske  (season  1912-1913),  now  comprises  ten  volumes,  and  fifteen 
more  will  make  their  appearance  during  the  year.  Eventually 
there  will  be  plays  from  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  Italy,  Spain, 
France,  Russia,  Germany,  and  the  Scandinavian  countries,  repre- 
sentative of  some  of  the  best  drama  of  all  ages  and  lands. 

Each  volume  is  prefaced  by  a  concise  historical  note  by  Mr.  Clark, 
and  with  a  few  suggestions  for  staging. 


Plays    Now    Ready 

INDIAN  SUMMER,  a  comedy  in  one  act  by  Meilhac  and 
Halevy.  This  little  play,  by  two  of  the  most  famous  writers  of 
comedy  of  the  last  century,  has  been  played  at  the  Comeclie  Fran- 
caise  at  Paris  for  upwards  of  forty  years,  and  remains  one  of  the 
brightest  and  most  popular  works  of  the  period.  Price  25  Cents. 

ROSALIE,  by  Max  Maurey.  A  "  Grand  Guignol "  comedy  in 
one  act,  full  of  verve  and  clever  dialogue.  Rosalie,  the  stubborn  maid, 
leads  her  none  too  amiable  master  and  mistress  into  uncomfortable 
complications  by  refusing  to  open  the  front  door  to  a  supposed  guest 
of  wealth  and  influence.    Peice  25  Cents. 

MODESTY,  by  Paul  Hebvieu-  A  delightful  trifle  by  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  living  dramatists.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  ART  OF  BEING  BORED,  (Lc  Monde  ou  Von  s'Unnuie),  a 
comedy  in  three  acts  by  Edouard  Pailleron.  Probably  the  best- 
known  and  most  frequently  acted  comedy  of  manners  in  the  realm 
of  nineteenth  century  French  drama.  It  is  replete  with  wit  and 
comic  situations.  For  nearly  forty  years  it  has  held  the  stage, 
while  countless  imitators  have  endeavored  to  reproduce  its  fresh- 
ness and  charm.    Price  25  Cents. 

A  MARRIAGE  PROPOSAL,  by  Aston  Tcuekhoi^f,  a  comedy 
in  one  act,  by  one  of  the  greatest  of  modern  Russian  writers.  This 
little  farce  is  very  popular  in  Russia,  and  satirizes  the  peasants  of 
that  country  in  an  amusing  manner.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  GREEN  COAT,  by  Alered  de  Musset  and  Emile  Augier. 
A  slight  and  comic  character  sketch  of  the  life  of  Bohemian  artists 
In  Paris,  written  by  one  of  France's  greatest  poets  and  one  of  her 
best-known  dramatists.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  WAGER,  by  Giuseppe  Giaoosa.  This  one  act  poetic 
comedy,  written  by  the  most  celebrated  dramatist  of  modern  Italy, 
was  the  author's  first  work.  It  treats  of  a  wager  made  by  a  proud 
young  page,  who  risks  his  life  on  the  outcome  of  a  game  of  chess. 
Price  25  Cents. 


THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERDESS,  a  poetic  comedy  in  one  act, 
by  Andre  Rivoire.  A  charming  pastoral  sketch  by  a  well-known 
French  poet  and  dramatist.  Played  with  success  at  the  Com6die 
Francaise.    Price  25  Cents. 

PHORMIO,  a  Latin  comedy  by  Terence.  An  up-to-date  version 
of  the  famous  comedy.  One  of  the  masterpieces  of  Latin  drama; 
the  story  of  a  father  who  returns  to  find  that  his  son  has  married 
a  slave  girl.  Phormio,  the  parasite-villain  who  causes  the  numerous 
comic  complications,  succeeds  in  unraveling  the  difficulties,  and 
all  ends  happily.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  TWINS,  a  Latin  farce  by  PiiAUTUS,  upon  which  Shake- 
speare founded  his  Comedy  of  Errors.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  BOOR,  by  Anton  Tohekope.  A  well-known  farce  by  the 
celebrated  Russian  master;  it  is  concerned  with  Russian  peasants, 
and  portrays  with  masterly  skill  the  comic  side  of  country  life. 
Price  25  Cents. 

THE  BLACK  PEARL,  by  Victorien  Sardou.  One  of  Sardou's 
most  famous  comedies  of  intrigue.  A  house  has,  it  is  thought, 
been  robbed.  But  through  skilful  investigation  it  is  found  that  the 
havoc  wrought  has  been  done  by  lightning.    Price  25  Cents. 

CHARMING   LEANDRE,   by  Theodore  de  Banville.    The 

author  of  "  Gringoire  "  is  here  seen  in  a  poetic  vein,  yet  the  French- 
man's innate  sense  of  humor  recalls,  in  this  satirical  little  play,  the 
genius  of  Moliere.    Price  25  Cents. 

THE  POST-SCRIPTUM,  by  Emile  Augier.  Of  this  one-act 
comedy  Processor  Brander  Matthews  writes:  "  .  .  .  one 
of  the  brightest  and  most  brilliant  little  one-act  comedies  in  any 
language,  and  to  be  warmly  recommended  to  American  readers." 
Price  25  Cents. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  FOURCHAMBAULT,  by  Emile  Augier. 
One  of  the  greatest  of  recent  French  family  dramas.  Although  the 
play  is  serious  in  tone,  It  contains  touches  which  entitle  it  to  a 
position  among  the  best  comedies  of  manners  of  the  times-  Pricb 
SO  Cents. 


THE  DOCTOR  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF,  by  Molieri.  A 
famous  farce  by  the  greatest  of  French  dramatists.  Sganarelle  has 
to  be  beaten  before  he  will  acknowledge  that  he  is  a  doctor,  which 
he  is  not.  He  then  works  apparently  miraculous  cures.  The  play 
is  a  sharp  satire  on  the  medical  profession  in  the  17th  Century. 
Prire  25  Cents. 

BRIGNOL.  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER,  by  Cafus.  The  first 
comedy  in  English  of  the  most  sprightly  and  satirical  of  present- 
day  French  dramatists.    Price  50  Cents. 

CHOOSING  A  CAREER,  by  G.  A.  de  Caillavet.  Written  by 
one  of  the  authors  of  "  Love  Watches."  A  farce  of  mistaken 
identity,  full  of  humorous  situations  and  bright  lines.  Prick  25 
Cents. 

FRENCH  WITHOUT  A  MASTER,  by  Tristan  Bernard.  A 
clever  farce  by  one  of  the  most  successful  of  French  dramatists. 
It  is  concerned  with  the  difficulties  of  a  bogus-interpreter  who 
does  not  know  a  word  of  French.    Price  25  Cents. 

PATER  NOSTER.  a  poetic  play  in  one  act,  by  Francois 
Copfee.  A  pathetic  incident  of  the  time  of  the  Paris  Commune, 
in  1871.    Price  25  Cents. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL    FINE      OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DEC    5    193,  f 
JAN    30 1933 

NOV   111933 

NOV    1    1933 

6  1935 
MAY    23  19C 3 
M 


gGcS 


ft£(-olo 
D£C  i4m2 

im  CTACKS 

6   '64-4PJ 


■\«w 


jtfi* 


H!ECE/V£;D 


APR  21 » 


LOAN  DEPT. 


LD  21-50m-8,-32 


Ufa 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


